


getting high in mine

by bottomlinsons



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Drug Use, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 09:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomlinsons/pseuds/bottomlinsons
Summary: Getting home from a festival is miserable by any method, but a three-hour train ride is truly the bottom of the barrel.This time, though, with the help of the cute guy sitting on the floor, it might not be so bad.(meet-cute au)





	getting high in mine

**Author's Note:**

> tw: recreational drug use
> 
> inspired by my own trashy ass 💖

.

They’ve only been on the train for fifteen minutes, and Louis is already certain he’s going to throw up. He’s staring out the window, faced only with his reflection staring back. It’s too dark outside, and too light inside the train, for him to be able to see anything passing by. Instead he can only watch himself, staring with too wide eyes, keeping his mouth resolutely shut but fighting not to clench his jaw.

“Gum?”

He sees the hand, and by extension the half empty gum packet it’s holding, in the reflection too. It’s a pretty hand, with black and turquoise nail polish, and several chunky ornate rings.

It’s enough to pique his interest. He takes a deep breath, mentally checking the status of his churning stomach, and turns.

On the floor, right next to Louis’ chair, there’s a rather stunning boy smiling up at him. He’s got blue glitter peppered on his cheekbones, and black eyeliner that was probably pristine at the start of the night but is now smudged under his eyes. It doesn’t look bad.

It’s the same makeup look that Lottie usually spends hours trying to achieve before a night out.

Louis clears his throat. “Yeah,” he reaches over and takes a stick. The move is slow, just like everything else on this goddamn train. “Thanks.”

He unwraps it and puts it in his mouth, thankful to now have something to do with his mouth and with his hands. Chewing probably isn’t the best thing to do right now, in his state, but it’s a distraction at the very least. And hey, now he has the wrapper to tear up.

He glances back at the boy. He’d been one of the first people in the aisle to sit down, when he’d realized the seats were all taken. Smart, that was. Some of the other people standing had stayed on their feet, as if them glaring at the people in the chair was going to somehow inspire them to move.

Louis wasn’t moving for goddamn anything. He _fought_ for this chair, and he’ll have the bruises tomorrow to prove it.

He’d known the train ride home was gonna be a nightmare. Getting home from any festival, even with a car waiting for you, was a rough time. Getting home from this one? Where the only way in and out was a three-hour train journey, it spelt disaster from the very beginning.

It was pure bloody luck that the train, when it had pulled into the platform, had stopped with a carriage door right in front of Louis. He and Liam had a plan - push on, fight as hard as bloody possible, and get a chair. The only thing worse than a three-hour train ride home, filled exclusively with drunk and high festival goers, was having to do the journey standing up. And Louis wasn’t gonna let that be an option.

He’d practically clawed his way on, when the marshal had given them the all clear to board. He and another bloke had got jammed in the doorway, both fighting to get their shoulders through first. Louis had slipped free first and bolted, straight for the first free pair of seats he could find.

Sinking into the chair was probably one of Louis’ more impressive personal victories, especially when Liam was able to sink into the free chair beside him.

The boy on the floor was just a casualty of war.

Still, Louis does feel a little bad. The guy is clearly taller than him if the way his legs are curled up in front of him is anything to go by. He’s wearing absurdly tight skinny jeans; Louis can tell by the strained stretch across the boy’s knees. It can’t be very comfortable.

Checking in once again on his stomach before making any movements, Louis gingerly lifts his feet up and pulls them onto the chair. He tucks his arms around his shins, pulling his legs to his front. The move catches the boy’s eye.

“You can stretch your legs out if you want.”

Slowly, softly, the boy smiles. He moves his legs lethargically, unbending them as if the pieces need time to slowly slot into place, and slides them into the space in front of Louis’ chair. They’re long enough to reach Liam’s shoes, and they bump a little as he settles, but Liam’s dead to the world — snoring with his face smooshed up against the back of the chair in front of him — so it’s not an issue.

“Thank you,” and wow, his voice is like syrup. “Is your friend alright?”

Liam snorts a little, like he’s choking on his own snore, then settles again.

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Louis thinks back to the half a bottle of vodka Liam poured into his orange juice on the way in, then flashes immediately back to the younger Liam he once knew who barely touched the stuff. Partying with Liam is the fucking best. “Just went a little too hard.”

The boy shrugs, and again it’s slow and careful. “What else are festivals for?”

That makes Louis grin. “Exactly.”

He glances up the train. The people to the boy’s left have huddled up in their own group, and the bloke on his right has propped his head up against his mate’s knee and fallen asleep.

“You on your own?”

The guy nods. “Yeah. My friends got an Airbnb in town, didn’t want to get the train.”

Louis lets his head lol back onto the seat cushion. “You’ve got clever friends.” He shifts a bit, so he can still see the boy’s face. “You didn’t want to stay with them?”

“I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Louis sucks in a breath. When he gets home, it’s pretty likely he’s going to sleep for twenty-four hours.

“That’s rough.”

The boy shifts a little himself, shuffling so that he can rest his back against the side of the chair behind him. The person sitting in it doesn’t seem to care — about as lost to the world as Liam is. “It’ll be alright,” he says. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

“That’s cheery.”

He’s got a funny smile, this bloke; serene, like he knows something the rest of them don’t. “I try.”

Now that he’s got his legs stretched out, Louis can see the guy’s full outfit. He’s a little more committed to the festival aesthetic than the other guys Louis’ seen today. There’s been a lot of skinny jeans, for sure, but the other punters have stuck to striped button ups and combat boots. This guy has a sheer top on, from what Louis can tell, and a giant fluffy black jacket over the top. Louis wants to touch it.

“What’s your name?” he asks, instead of caving to that instinct.

“Harry,” the boy — Harry, replies easily.

Louis hums. “That’s what I would have guessed,” he lies, for no reason at all.

There’s that smile again. “Really?”

Louis nods. The nausea in his stomach has mostly passed now that he has someone to talk to. With it gone, the rocking of the train feels almost comforting. “Yup.”

“Can I try guess your name?” Harry asks.

Smug, Louis says, “go for it.”

Harry watches him carefully for a long moment, with calculating eyes. It goes on just a second too long, long enough to make Louis squirm, and wonder what Harry’s seeing.

“Louis?”

Louis reels. “What the fuck?”

It makes Harry laugh, too loud for the train. Everyone’s in about the same state they are, so people startle at the sound. Louis doesn’t pay them any attention.

“How the fuck did you know that?”

The serene smile on Harry’s face is long gone, replaced instead by a broad, bright grin. “I made an educated guess.” He lifts a hand and points at Liam, or more specifically to Liam’s arm.

_IF FOUND, CALL LOUIS_ , it says in permanent marker that’s lasted considerably well, taking into account that Louis wrote it almost ten hours ago. Then it’s got his phone number.

Louis settles in his seat. “Oh.”

Harry continues to grin at him.“Wasn’t sure about the pronunciation, had to guess on that one.”

“Nah, you got it,” Louis allows.

His heart is still racing. “I full thought you were psychic for a second there, mate.”

“I could still be,” Harry says. “You never know.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Louis warns. “I’m in no state for it.”

Harry makes a show of peering closer. He raises his eyebrows, amused. “Your pupils certainly say as much.”

Louis rolls his eyes. As if eighty-percent of the train isn’t in the same boat as him. “Yeah, well. I’d look like a bit of a dick with sunnies on this time of night.”

Harry hums. “I’m sure you’d look fine.”

Louis pulls his sunnies from his jacket pocket and puts them on. It’s actually quite nice, settling the harsh lights from inside the train. He looks down at Harry, who’s got a squished-up expression on his face.

“Oh,” he says, playful. “Yeah, shit, maybe you were right.”

Louis whips the glasses off. “Fuck off.”

They’re both grinning though.

Harry reaches into his own pocket, buried deep in the soft looking fluff of his jacket. “You should try mine," he says. Then he pulls his hand out. 

Louis gapes. “Those are not your sunnies.”

Harry grins, reaching over to pass Louis what could more accurately be called Mad Max goggles. “That’s them.”

Louis takes them. The lenses are cut in prisms, in what looks like three different colours of glass. It’s like those kaleidoscope toys he liked so much when he was in pre-school. Even looking through them from a distance makes him feel a little woozy.

“Where did you even get them?”

“Online. Do you like them?”

“They’re wicked,” Louis pulls them over his eyes and pulling the strap on. He drops his hands and looks at where he thinks Harry is. There’s three of him now, you see. “How do I look?”

He can’t see what Harry’s face does. How Harry wore these for more than a few minutes today Louis will never know. He’d probably fall over if he stood up, even totally sober.

“You look very cute.”

Louis pauses. He tucks his finger under the left lens and pulls it up, so that he can see Harry properly. “Cute, hey?”

He sounds cocky, but he’s blushing.

He can feel it.

Harry doesn’t blink, though. “Yeah. Very.”

Gosh, Louis’ face is hot.

He does his best to hide it with the goggles, sticking them back over his eyes and going back to analysing the train. He doesn’t want to stop talking to Harry, but he’s finding it difficult to find the words that’ll keep the conversation going.

“So,” he starts, without any sure idea of what he’s going to say next. His jaw aches a little when; he really, _really_ needs to stop clenching it. “Which acts grabbed your fancy this evening, Harold?”

That’s not too bad, actually.

Harry hums. “Catfish, definitely.”

“Oh!” Louis feels his own eyes light up. “I fucking love them. _Seven_ is so good.”

“Twice is the best, come on.”

Louis has to pull the goggles off again. “No way.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Of course, I do!” he physically twists in his chair to make sure he can look at Harry full on. “It’s a tune, but it’s not their best.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it is. That bit, _‘from every hangover my head feels’_ til the chorus? Fuck, it’s such a good bit.”

“All of seven is the good bit,” Louis argues. He’s a little half-hearted about it, though. Harry’s got a bloody divine singing voice, and honestly, it’s a little distracting. “The whole song.”

Harry pauses, thinking for a moment. “Maybe,” he says. “I can’t remember exactly how that one goes.”

Louis knows where this is leading.

Harry’s got a wicked grin.

Pink cheeks returning, Louis says, “you know. It’s like... ‘ _I don’t think through things.’_ ” He doesn’t sing loudly — in fact, he does the opposite, keeping his voice purposefully low. That doesn’t stop Harry’s face from lighting up.

“You’re a good singer,” he says.

Louis rolls his eyes. Singing in front of a stranger — a train load of strangers, actually — is something he’s almost certainly gonna regret tomorrow morning.

Harry, who has grown pretty good at reading Louis in a very short amount of time, doesn’t push it. “Who else did you see?”

It’s almost hard to remember now that they’re on the train and speeding away from the festival grounds. Everything is always so chaotic, running from one act to the next, trying to worm your way to the front of the crowd without getting squished to death.

“Fisher was good,” Louis says. “Love a good dance, me.”

“I didn’t see him. Went to DMA’s instead.”

“I wanted to see them!” Louis juts a thumb in Liam’s direction. “This one only came for Fisher, though, so I was outvoted.”

Harry shrugs.

“They were good. They’ve got a side show in London on Saturday, you could go to that.”

Louis had thought about that, but Liam’s got a work thing this weekend, so he can’t come with. He’d thought about asking some of the other guys, Stan or Calvin, but he knew they wouldn’t want to pay for the tickets.

“Don’t have anyone to go with,” Louis says.

Harry doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll go with you.”

Louis’ tummy swoops, but in the very best way possible.

“Really?”

“Sure.” He makes confidence look so easy. “If there’s still tickets left, do you wanna check?”

Louis pulls his phone out of his pocket, only to remember it ran out of battery roughly five hours ago. “You’ve already seen them.”

He’s not sure why he’s fighting this. It’s already quite apparent that Harry has another reason to be interested in joining him, and that, well, it kind of takes Louis’ breath away. Anticipation sings hot, helped along by the easy, interested look in Harry’s eye.

“They’re good.” Harry shrugs. “Company’s even better.”

God, if they weren’t on a train right now. There’s only a foot or so between them, has been this entire journey, but suddenly it feels much smaller.

“Alright then,” Louis says slowly. “Your phone still working?”

Harry digs around in his jacket pocket for a moment. As he does, he shifts his bum a little, just enough to remind Louis that the train floor probably isn’t all that comfortable. It’s about two degrees outside, now that the sun has set, and it’s not like the flat linoleum aisle is insulated.

Louis’ not feeling too cold, all things considered. He’s actually had to take his jacket off, feeling too hot, too stifled underneath the heavy fabric. It’s easy to pull the offending garment off his lap, ball it up and pass it down to Harry.

“You can sit on that, if you like.”

Harry doesn’t take it straight away. “You’re not cold?”

Louis swallows. “Nope. Super warm.”

 

There’s a look in Harry’s eye that says he knows exactly why, which makes Louis blush a little. He feels a little exposed, under that gaze, as if everything that he’s doing is completely obvious. Still, whatever Harry can tell from looking at him, it’s enough to get him to take the jacket. He opens it up and refolds it more delicately than Louis had, before sitting up a little so that he can make a slightly softer seat.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Anytime.” As soon as he says it, Louis cringes. Anytime? Harry can sit on his clothes at any time? What does that even mean?

Harry chuckles. “Good to know.” He looks down at his phone. “I’ve still got seventeen percent. You want me to get tickets?”

This is mad.

“Yeah, that’d be sick,” Louis says.

Harry plugs the details into his phone. “It’s at seven-thirty, does that work for you?”

Louis specifically kept the weekend free, exclusively for recovery time, so he doesn’t need to check. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

“They’re playing Gunnersbury Park,” Harry scrolls down the page, giving Louis a good amount of time to admire the nail polish on his thumb. “Is that easy for you to get to?”

“I’ll have to take the tube, but it should be fine.”

“You wanna get some food beforehand?”

Another thrill of excitement runs down Louis’ spine. “Yeah, wicked.”

He’s saying wicked too much. He’ll have to work on that. Harry doesn’t seem to mind though, offering Louis a small smile as he taps another button on his phone.

“Any restaurant requests?”

Louis can’t really think about food right now. That’ll definitely send the nausea straight back. What he can think about is the word restaurant. Harry wants to go to a _restaurant_ with him.

“Why don’t you choose?” He’s leaning quite far over his seat, he realises then. He’s not sure when that happened, but he’s happy it has. Harry’s face is nice and close, and he’s got just the right angle to see Harry’s cheeks dimple. “You should know, though. I’m pretty hard to impress.”

Lie. Big lie.

Harry doesn’t seem bothered, though. He shoots Louis another of his easy smiles. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

They fill the rest of the information out pretty easily, Louis filling in the gaps about himself when Harry needs them. Their heads hover nice and close together, which is why, when the train rocks a little, Louis accidentally stabs Harry in the head with the pointy bits of Harry’s goggles, still sitting on Louis’ head.

“Jesus, sorry!” he says.

Harry presses a hand to his forehead, but he’s laughing. “You’re fine,” he says. “Almost forgot you were wearing them.”

“Me too.” Just for fun, Louis pulls them over his eyes. “Hey, you should bring them to the concert, they’ll be awesome.”

They look even cooler when he looks out the train window. They’re passing through a smaller town on the outskirts of the city, so there’s streetlights outside that light up the night. The goggles make them all sorts of colours, red, blue, purple, green, then yellow. He almost doesn’t want to look away.

Of course, it’s as he’s staring square over Liam’s head that his friend chooses that time to startle awake.

He catches sight of Louis and shouts. “Jesus!”

Several people from all directions shush at them fiercely. It’s enough for Louis to flinch. He pulls the goggles off.

“Could you not, thanks?” he hisses at Liam.

“You surprised me!” Liam defends himself. “Where’d you even get those?”

Louis leans back a little so that Liam can see Harry, sitting comfortably on the floor. “This is Harry,” he says. “They’re his.”

Liam blinks at Harry for a moment. Then, “they’re sick, mate.”

“Thanks.”

Louis passes them back to Harry. “Think they probably suit you better.”

Harry takes them easily, but instead of putting them back in his pocket he sits them back on his head. Just the site of them, pushing Harry’s short curls back and sticking up in every direction, well. Louis’ can’t be helped. He’s in love.

“M’Harry,” Harry holds his hand out over Louis’ knees to shake Liam’s hand.

Liam, his brain clearly processing things as slowly as Louis’ brain is, takes a moment but catches up. He takes Harry’s hand. “Liam,” he nods at the ground Harry’s sitting on. “Tough luck about the seat.”

“It hasn’t been too bad,” Harry says.

Louis nudges Liam with his elbow. “It’s the company.”

Liam looks far too tired for him. He leans back into his position, his forehead pushed up against the seat in front of him. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

You know, it would be nice if Louis’ friends showed him just a little more support.

Harry taps Louis’ knee though, as he’s pulling away from the shake, and gosh that is a good development. “Nah, he’s right.”

Okay, Louis may pass out.

Liam looks between the two of them.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay. Uh, good? I’m just gonna….” He closes his eyes again.

It’s not very useful though, because that’s exactly when the train starts to slow. A low voice comes over the speaker.

_Train will arrive on Platform Two in three minutes. Please ensure to take all rubbish with you when you depart._

The entire train seems to groan in relief, but Louis feels his heart sink. He doesn’t want to pull into Platform Two, he doesn’t want to take his jacket back from Harry, and he certainly doesn’t want his conversation with Harry to end. He’d stay right here, chatting with Harry, for hours yet.

Course, what he wants has no impact on it.

Harry does shift, moving so he can pull Louis’ jacket out from under his bum. He folds it up again, then passes it over to Louis.

It’s warm, which is. Weird.

“Thanks again,” he says.

Louis doesn’t say ‘anytime’ this time, thank god. “You’re welcome,” he says instead, which is far more reasonable.

“I’m excited for Saturday,” Harry says. He pulls his legs up from under Louis seat, curling them in front of him again and settling his arms over his knees. Around him, the other people on the floor have started to move too, slowly getting to their feet.

But Saturday. Yes. The show. The restaurant.

“Me too,” Louis says, because he really, _really_ is.

He holds out a hand to help Harry stand, and Harry takes it easily. His hand is warm, soft, and bigger than Louis’. Harry squeezes Louis’ fingers when he’s on his feet and takes a moment before he drops Louis’ hand to dust off his knees. When he straightens, Louis realises how tall he is, and just how well those jeans fit him.

The train slows all the way down, then shudders to a stop. The doors beep when they open, and the line of people standing immediately begins to move.

“Uh, wait.” Louis swallows and fuck, clenches his jaw again, searching for the right words. “I, um.” His phone’s completely dead, run out of battery almost five hours ago. “I should give you my number?”

And wow, that feels presumptuous.

Even though they’re going on a date, even though Harry’s literally asked him out, it feels like he’s assuming something.

Harry looks soft, though. And pleased. He taps his nose and then scrunches it up. If Louis wasn’t already a little dizzy, he’d surely be there now.

“I’ve got it already. I’m psychic remember?”

Louis remembers his phone number, scribbled on Liam’s arm. “Right. Course.”

“See you soon, Louis,” he says. Then he can’t say anything else, because there’s a line of people waiting to walk off who don’t seem in any mood to be patient. He doesn’t stop looking at Louis until he has to, though, which counts for something.

Once Harry’s gone, Louis returns his attention to Liam, who really does need a bit of help to get it together. The rocking of the train really hadn’t done him any favours. They hurry off the train, and quickly to the bathroom where Liam has a bit of a spew (along with roughly twenty-five percent of the train) before Louis rushes them into an Uber.

They don’t get back to Liam’s flat for another half an hour, and Louis’ phone takes another ten on top of that to load. When it does, though, everything that Louis had been worried about - that he had no way to get in touch with Harry, that Harry might not even reach out - settles.

_You really do look very cute in my goggles,_ Harry has sent, along with Louis’ DMA’s ticket. _Hope you’ll consider modelling them again on Saturday xx_

Louis doesn’t hesitate.

_Couldn’t stop me if you tried._

.

**Author's Note:**

> if you love me, you could tell me what you thought? (then I'll love you back, so, so much.)


End file.
